


Nest of Vipers

by Mireille



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-10
Updated: 2003-04-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Something nobody knows about Marcus Flint.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written before OOTP, though in this case it doesn't much matter. Long ago, there was a "write a fic about 'something nobody knows about this character'" challenge in my corner of LJ. This is what happened.

Marcus had known he was going into Slytherin before the Hat even touched his head, of course. He was a Flint, and Flints go into Slytherin. (All right, there'd been one embarrassment of a second cousin who'd been in Hufflepuff, but no one ever talked about her any more; it had been a relief for the entire family when she got married, took her husband's name, and was only heard from as a signature at the bottom of a Christmas card.)

And he'd known what being in Slytherin meant. Ambition. Cunning. Determination. A disregard for inconvenient rules. Everything he'd been brought up to be, every quality he'd been taught to admire. 

He'd even been prepared for the way the rest of the school regarded them: bullies, liars, cheats, thieves--and while it was true, it was partly because that was what was expected of them. What you decide you might as well become, when the rest of the students (and the teachers, apart from Snape) regarded you as a den of fledgling Death Eaters, the proverbial snakes in the grass.

And that was what he hadn't been prepared for: the damned snakes. On their robes, on the banners in the Great Hall, on the school crest, everywhere. Painted, embroidered, carved, drawn; coiled, striking, hissing; giant dark-green constrictors and tiny silver vipers with elegantly pointed fangs. They were all snakes, and they all struck terror into his heart. 

Before he'd come to school, he'd known he hated snakes, of course; had known that while he didn't shy away from a fight, and took risks on his broom that most people called "daring" and his mother called "likely to break your damnfool neck, and don't come crying to me when it happens," the harmless green snakes his younger brother kept in a terrarium had given him nightmares. After three nights of waking up in a cold sweat, he'd convinced their parents that he was old enough to have his own room, and curtained off a section of the attic. From then on, if the door was open when he had to walk past Jonathan's room, he closed his eyes tightly and walked as quickly as he could without seeming to run. 

But those were real snakes, the genuine hissing, slithering, scaly article, not just a picture. Pictures didn't frighten him, he'd always thought. 

That was before he'd come to school. Before they were everywhere, and he found himself flinching at the sight of his own school robes, being careful not to let his fingers brush across the House crest. Before the very word "Slytherin" made him shiver at the hiss of the first syllable, the way the sound of the name made him think of writhing coils of green and silver hidden just beneath his feet, ready to strike at his next step. 

It'd have been funny, if it wasn't him. If it wouldn't have made him a school joke within seconds of someone finding out, every Hufflepuff he'd ever tormented mocking him by hissing as he passed, every Gryffindor fought using _serpensortia_ to get the better of him before he managed to fire off the first hex or land the first punch. He'd be a laughingstock within Slytherin, as well; he could only imagine the number of snakes his roommates would leave in his bed, the way they'd laugh at him behind his back at Quidditch practice. The way he'd lose all the status he'd fought so hard to gain. 

Gryffindors might be the brave ones, but Slytherins were the ones who weren't _allowed_ to show fear, particularly not amongst themselves. Their housemates, their friends, would seize any weakness like a wild animal would tear at the exposed throat of its prey, and Marcus didn't intend to let that happen to him. He was a predator, not prey; that was why he'd been Sorted here in the first place.

So Marcus did his best to keep it a secret, folding his robes at night so that the emblem was obscured, bribing Pucey into trading beds with him when he couldn't cope with opening his curtain every morning to face the ghastly tapestry on the opposite wall, depicting a cobra poised to strike. Saying "our House" and "people like us" to avoid the hateful sibilance of the word "Slytherin" whenever he could. 

And it worked well enough, for a time, until the dueling club his seventh year, when Malfoy had conjured that bloody snake. He'd jumped back a bit, but that was no real problem; everyone had drawn away from it, out of surprise more than anything else. And then it had gone after the Hufflepuffs, and Marcus had taken advantage of everyone's distraction to get the hell out of the room before it decided to come anywhere near him. No one had even noticed he was gone; they were all too caught up in the excitement. 

But after that night, he'd started dreaming about snakes again. The rustling of the curtains in the breeze sounded, to his imagination, like the slide of scales against stone; the slightly asthmatic wheeze from the next bed turned into a hiss from the serpent his subconscious insisted was coiled beneath his pillow. He'd found himself dozing off--during meals, during classes, even once while he was waiting for the rest of the team to show up for practice--because he only managed to sleep for a few minutes at a time at night, just long enough to slip into a deep enough sleep for the dreams to come. 

He hid it well, he thought. At least, no one ever let on that they'd guessed, and he was certain they would have. 

But sometimes, when he accidentally let himself look too long at the tapestry in his room, or one of the first years decided to punish a classmate for some implied insult by casting _serpensortia_ in the common room and Marcus had to fight the urge to flee, he caught himself thinking that, despite its numerous disadvantages, it would have made life much easier if he'd only been put into Hufflepuff, like his cousin Sandra.


End file.
